


hanging out with the boys

by im mad a lot (fuckin_rodent)



Series: shit from discord [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Annabeth deserves nice things, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, I guess???, Multi, Near Future, Nico is a Dork, Percy Jackson is a Dork, That is all, i literally hate will and im NOT sorry, listen i just wanted to write 3tp bullshit ok, percy and nico MAYBE are nice things, screams i forgot i put a pup play joke in there its not explicit smut content i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckin_rodent/pseuds/im%20mad%20a%20lot
Summary: just annabeth spending time with her boys
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson
Series: shit from discord [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186325
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	hanging out with the boys

i.

percy’s sulking, as has become a usual occurrence during their trips to the pavilion.

annabeth continues her rant about the architectural monstrosity that is ryugyong hotel anyways, because it is an abomination, and whoever came up with the blueprints for that fucking knocked-in triangle deserves to suffer for eternity. also because so long as she keeps talking, percy won’t notice that she is trying to prevent herself from sulking just as much as he is.

he looks _miserable_. which is entirely in his right, given just _what_ it is he’s sulking over. and has been sulking over without fail with each visit to the pavilion: nico di angelo.

the very boy whose attention has been stolen once again by will solace, the _bastard_ , as has been the case for about a month. not by his own volition. he’s uncomfortable – like he always is when people he doesn’t know well try to talk to him, or approach him, or, y’know, give him any kind of attention at all – and it’s _abundantly clear_.

tall and imposing as he is, he’s also pretty good at making himself unnoticeable. the attempt this time was not in vain; he’s all but disappeared in the eyes of their fellow camp-goers since the wars have ended and the novelty of being the parthenos-bringer and god-negotiator wore off. though, annabeth doubts he’s too torn up over it. he revels in the lack of attention, she knows. they _all_ know. if you remember nothing of nico di angelo, the one thing that stays with you is that he is not one wanting to be seen. most do well to respect that. (sure, it’s by mostly forgetting his existence entirely, but it still counts.)

most, barring will solace.

the _fucking bastard_.

“it’s an absolute _travesty_ ,” she’s saying, and while the feeling is _certainly_ in it (seriously, north korea, who in hades a-okayed that design?) it’s not as though she’s really paying attention to it. the information is in her head, comes out naturally on her tongue, because it’s in her nature to be well-versed in her topic of discussion. call it an automated tactic. a tactic that’s failing, since percy is still moping, with his sea-storm eyes fixed undoubtedly across the table.

she pretends she’s not looking at the exact same thing.

it’s only across the table. nico sits opposite them, having slumped there as an impromptu drop-in out of thin air (or, the shadow underneath the table,) bone-tired and half-coherent around the greasy burger that had manifested on his plate. and he’d been beautiful as ever, blood-stained shirt and bandaged knuckles and a tenderness to how he took his breaths. back from another mission, and his first thought had been to see them, and if that doesn’t make her heart flutter than nothing ever will, because he thought of _them_ after so long of refusing to think of _anybody_ : it’s progress, if nothing else.

five minutes respite. not even a quarter-way through his burger (he eats with polite, petite-sized bites, thanks to the swelling of his lower lip.) eyelids dragging heavy, weary hums of interest as annabeth had begun talking through the process of grounding him.

as loud as some parts of the underworld may be, other parts are deafeningly silent and lifeless, he’d disclosed once or twice. it’s the silence that makes it harder for him to keep his head on his shoulders – she’d started cataloguing the signs of his quieter trips down below. needs grounding whenever he comes back. and what better way than providing noise?

the fine tremor of his exhausted hands hadn’t even come to a complete stop before will solace – _the **bastard**_ – had ambled his way over. as if he has a right. as if he has any reason at all to be meandering in the direction of nico, as if he has any place in the mere _vicinity_ –

okay, so maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. calm down, annabeth.

still, as she watches will continue to try and wring responses out of her friend – “duh, of course you’re our friend, you idiot!”, percy said, what, three years ago now? – she can’t help but curl her hand tighter around her butterknife. she can’t focus too hard on it, over the sound of her own voice, which is turning more into a snakish hiss by the minute (“what _bastard_ has the fucking gall to come up with something like that? to just _decide_ that that’s something he wanted to do, wanted to try and get away with… that fucking _triangle_ -hotel, dear _gods_ , what a conceited _prick_ they must be…”)

will’s got his stern-parent expression on. furrowed eyebrows, stupidly wide mouth as he goes on to chastise nico over exerting himself, as if nico can’t look after himself just fine…

scratch that, as if nico doesn’t have responsible friends who will look after him just fine without the obnoxious input of some know-it-all son of apollo. it’s more than a little insulting. percy huffs from beside her. he’s begun pushing his food around on his plate.

“solace, i’m fine. it’s…not really any of your business, either.” annabeth hears that just clear – not because she’s biased or anything (maybe a little bit.) his voice has always had an unworldly quality to it, not obvious unless provoked, but still present even when spoken softly. a weight to it that demands attention; ironic, considering his attempts to avoid that exact thing. more than that, she hears how frustrated he is. “i know the extent of my abilities just fine – it’s been three years. my strength and my powers have grown since then.”

there’s a bite to it.

how annabeth loves to hear that bite. that…that severity, the blatant dismissal in his tone, a testament that his powers are not the only thing that have grown since he was a kid. his confidence, above all. he’s not conceited, or an asshole (well he is an asshole, but no more than herself or percy. he fits in with them just right,) but he’s not afraid to talk down to somebody.

“i’m just trying to look out for you!” will sighs, exasperated. hands planted on his hips. “why is that so bad? your powers are still _taxing_ , even if you don’t feel the effect as strongly, and you’ve been gone for a whole _week!_ in, y’know, the _underworld_ – the place that almost killed you before, that ring any bells? seriously! your spooky powers won’t protect you forever –“

“oh, and you will?”

will stops short. he flounders for a second, then sputters, face blooming a flustered shade of red that reaches his hairline. he works his mouth, then stops, then finally starts again. nico’s unamused face doesn’t twitch. not even _once_ , despite the implications. “that’s my job,” will says slowly. uncertainly.

“your job is to heal injured demigods and run chores as a cabin leader, solace, not babysit me – a powerful demigod in my own right. so why don’t you go run along and do your job?” nico’s staring at him in a way that reminds annabeth deeply of his father. a soft glare, like what he’s glaring at isn’t even _worth_ the energy of a scowl, but his eyes are dark and chilling. boring into the boy standing in front of him.

will whines. it’s then that annabeth realizes she’s stopped talking. probably stopped around the same time she could actually focus on what will was saying to begin with, she figures.

a beat. two. three. “nico,” the blond reproaches, voice softening. what he says next has annabeth clawing into percy’s side to keep him from leaving the table to punch the fucking lights out of the bastard: “why do you always push people away? we _care_ for you.” cherry on top, he looks at percy and annabeth as if for them to back up his point.

which makes it kind of awkward. it’s a sticky situation. tell nico that people _don’t_ care about him, solely to disagree with will, or – gag – agree with will…and confirm that people do, in fact, care about nico. because…will…isn’t… _wrong_.

gods, that’s painful to admit. but it’s true. people do care for nico. granted, not as many people as he _deserves_ , but he has a handful of people he can rely on in his time of need because they care for him and love him and never want him to leave and want to just…keep him close, cherish him, and.

“why are you lookin’ at us?”

annabeth blanches.

“ _percy_ ,” she hisses in panic. that’s not – they hadn’t – he doesn’t. fuck.

will gives them a bewildered look. he jerks back a little at the venom in percy’s voice, the glower he’s on the receiving end of, like he can’t quite fathom what percy just said but unable to _un_ hear it, either.

“oh, wait, i mean –“ and now it’s percy’s turn to flounder. “uh. what i mean is there _are_ people who care about you nico, bro, _we_ love you oh gods i just meant – i mean. yeah. what…what will said.”

she’s sort of afraid to look up at nico’s expression after a fuckery like that. will still looks shocked stupid. but then, in the sudden stilted silence, she hears chuckling.

nico’s chuckling.

the one he does for them, light and fond; annabeth settles at the sound of it. his shoulders jostle, a hand gingerly hovering over his chest and side but that doesn’t stop him from tittering away to himself.

“i know,” he assures after a moment. looks percy right in the eyes, void of malice or irritation, as if there’s simply no room for it when looking at percy. “i know that people care for me. and…obviously, i care for you two very much as well.”

annabeth does _not_ preen at the tactical exclusion of will solace in that statement.

annabeth does _not_ openly grin as nico whirls back to will solace – utter fucking _bastard_ – to pin the blond with what is most certainly a full-fledged, infamous, son of hades murder piss-inducing glaretm (thank leo for that particular name.)

percy does, though.

the sight alone brings about percy’s lighthouse smile; he’s overly fond, unable to tamper down his emotions, honest as he is – enamored flush across his face, dreamish quality to his gaze. annabeth can just about imagine that in his eyes, there’s a very cartoony heart-shaped vignette framing their friend right now. she can’t say it’s a particularly bad look on her boyfriend, honestly. with the morning sun behind him, pinkish, makes his cheeks glow and his bedhead look endearing.

a stark contrast to the vision that is nico.

he’s standing, all of a sudden. towering, powerful, cold. “which is why _you_ need to stop weaponizing that against me, you _bastard_. i know my place very well. it’s about time you were fucking put in yours.” all sharp, he’s a nightmare like this: impossible eyes, pale death, judgement. “i’m _sick_ of being babied by you, and this is _not_ what i fucking came home to deal with. i came home to be with my _friends_ , my _family_ , because – yes, a wonderful observation of yours – i _have_ been gone for a week!” he throws his hands up with this. his glare breaks, if only to pin will with a more incredulous look this time, a ‘no shit’ kind of exasperation making his eyes flutter wide and eyebrows jump a little.

he’s stalking closer. probably doesn’t realize it, he never does, but he’s looking like a god over a cowering mortal in this instance. all eyes are on him. it’s impossible to turn them away. he’s radiating cold rage. cold. cold. cold.

it’s devastatingly beautiful.

“what makes you think –“ slow words, slow to hear the otherworldly veil roll over each syllable – “that i would want to spend my time with **_you_**?”

the sneer is perfect. annabeth purses her lips together to keep from smiling. it’s not in relation to will’s suffering, but to nico’s performance. he’s so… _nico_. mean. cruel, even. a dick. he wears all of it so elegantly, though. princely in his assholishness.

will swallows. he’s backed up quite the distance, eyes wide and teeth grit like he’s been shaken – which he probably has. it’s near impossible to muster up the sympathy for him. he wipes his hands on his shorts, working his mouth once more, blue eyes dancing all over as he tries to find the words.

nico doesn’t wait for a response. turns around, takes a seat at the table again. plucks up his burger with the hand that hasn’t subtly come up to cradle his side. with possibly the most attitude-ridden nonchalance annabeth has ever bore witness to (this is a lie, nico likes to pretend and perform quite a lot, he’s a horrid liar like that, but it never ceases to amaze her every time because _okay, you little emo actor, calm down let me grab your emmy_ ,) he resumes his meal.

his burger is cold. annabeth can tell, because his nose scrunches a little as he takes a comically large bite. an onion slops back down onto his plate and cold grease smears his lips as he pulls away. percy reaches over and steals his onion.

annabeth grimaces. how either of them can eat cold grease is astonishi – well, no given they’re two of the most egregiously self-destructive demigods she’s ever come across, it’s not that astonishing, she shouldn’t be astonished. the bar has only dropped lower since she’s met them. she looks down at her cooled mushroom stew and takes a bite.

“at least let me treat your injuries.” will gestures to the grungy bandage on nico’s hand with about as much desperation in his pointing as there is in his voice.

without missing a beat – a _beat_ – nico retorts: “i’ve got percy for that.”

she doesn’t need to look up to hear the sound of will solace’s defeated footsteps leading away from their table. the repressed smile finally comes forth, a breathy kind of laughter following. the prideful puffing of percy’s chest beside her is hardly a shock; he’s still dreamily staring at nico across the table. hopeless idiot. “it’s your ribs too, right?” he asks. gestures with his spoon – because he’s a freak who eats cannelloni with a spoon and righteous determination – “and your hip? you’re sitting weird.”

nico nods. takes a sip of whatever the hell he manifested in his cup (it’s monster energy, she just feigns ignorance for percy’s sake. that boy is a _nutcase_ about caffeine.) if he smiles behind the rim, then, well, that’s only for them to know.

“welcome home,” annabeth greets wryly. she nudges his leg under the table, where he’s sprawled them between percy and annabeth’s own (because his legs are just that long now, apparently – has he hit another growth spurt?) takes another bite of her mushroom soup. frowns when the mushrooms are rubbery in her mouth, but chews through it anyways.

the boy runs a hand through horrible sulfur-infested knotty mess of hair, lets out a sigh that seems to deflate his whole being. but when he looks up at them, there’s no hiding the relief in his gaze. the comfort. the adoration. she’s not sure if he’s aware of that last one. “yeah, thanks.” rolls his eyes, takes another, more petite-sized mouthful, the dainty little fucker. “so. ryugyong hotel. that’s the one in korea, right?”

the rest of their meal, albeit cold, goes quite well.

ii.

sometimes, there are days where one of the boys are filled with a restlessness that annabeth cannot soothe. she understands where it comes from; they have spent too large a portion of their lives in the midst of action, at the ready, the taste of violence on the tip of their tongues – now that (for now) there is a peace that has settled over everything, it’s understandably quite difficult to simply settle along with it. it’s not just percy and nico who struggle with it, obviously. it’s simply a facet of the demigod lifestyle, it seems.

born and raised to fight. now that there is no war to be won, that energy has nowhere to go. it makes sense. she knows some demigods have taken to training, some take up other hobbies, some go for long walks or runs to tamper down the restlessness. some demigods don’t need to do any of those things because they don’t feel it.

annabeth is one of the luckier ones. once every while she’ll feel an itch, one that’s easily resolved by a quick sparring match or a dive into her newest fixation. or anything, really. it doesn’t require much to create a distraction, and as quick as it had appeared, it’s gone again. definitely one of the luckier ones. it’s bad enough hearing about how troublesome it is to deal with on a more extreme scale – having to deal with it personally, no doubt, would be an obstacle towards her productivity (whatever her productivity actually pertains to: sometimes it’s blueprinting for olympus and, maybe, it just so happens that what is of highest importance for the day is watching all the movies she’s missed over the years. no matter how bad. mostly the bad ones.)

unlike annabeth, however, percy and nico deal with the restlessness to a larger extent. not even the most jittery camper in camp half-blood compares to percy. annabeth’s personal theory is that the ‘itch’ is spurred on by his adhd; though it’s admittedly a weak theory, since nico – known to struggle less with that particular side-effect of demigodhood – tends to fair just as poorly. there are numerous ways to look at it, she supposes. too many.

it’s sort of hard to look at it in any other way than concern, too, when it’s right in her lap and has been squirming for the past half hour. she’s ignored it for the most part. one-handedly worked at cabin rosters to pass the time. vaguely aware of the television switching through stations every couple minutes, the huffing and sighing that gradually build in frustration, the body beside her getting up and stalking around and swinging his arms around agitatedly and running his hands through his hair, only to then flop down on the couch again. the most recent time he’d done this had resulted in throwing himself across her lap like a sack of potatoes.

a very heavy sack of potatoes.

but she took it like a champ, because complaining about percy’s inability to sit still isn’t going to make matters better. so, the plan is to wait for him to speak up about it. as time goes on, however, it’s becoming more unlikely that he’s not going to say anything.

she stops paying such close attention to her notepad, watching the overgrown toddler shift position for the sixth time in under a minute. he’s sitting upright, not fighting the arm she’s loosely slung around his waist; his hands keep flexing and unflexing in his lap, the foot he’s planted on the floor tapping fast. percy looks perturbed. furrowed eyebrows, lips pinched at the corners. those sea-storm eyes of his in full effect.

he jerks as she starts rubbing circles into his hip with her thumb. snaps his gaze to hers in a hurry, sigh coming out like a hiss of hot air, and he mumbles, “sorry.”

“for what?” she asks. stops rubbing circles with her thumbs. keeps her expression open, if not a little inquisitive – as is her nature, she supposes – cranes her neck to meet his eyes fully even if the position is a little odd. eye-contact for this is important. she knows. he wants to be heard, even if he feels stupid for how he’s feeling.

percy purses his lips. shuffles until his knees are under his chin. doesn’t look away from her. a moment of hesitation passes, before he lets out: “…nico’s better at this than i am. the fidgeting thing.”

a chuckle bubbles out of her before she can tamper it down. “what are you talking about? this isn’t a contest, y’know. and, for the record –“ annabeth can’t keep from smiling – “nico is _not_ better at ‘this’. he’s just as bad.” she gives him a curious look, watching the way percy doesn’t return her smile; a plan slowly begins to form in the back of her mind. annabeth pats his thighs as a signal for percy to get up, and she follows. “what’s brought this up?” she gestures for him to follow her into the kitchen.

the joys of being home during the winter months, she thinks. there’s no measure of how grateful she is for sally allowing her to stay with them. for now, the apartment is to themselves. which, she has a feeling, is going to make this conversation a little easier. it can be difficult for her boyfriend to express himself in regard to ‘things that have been caused by things my mom couldn’t help but will feel guilty for anyways’ when sally is present. it makes sense. annabeth would be wary to give details if her dad was present, too, no matter how strained their relationship may be.

annabeth directs percy towards the kettle. makes sure to ask for coffee and to rattle off a third combo (creamer, three sugars, a dollop of brandy, make sure the coffee’s strong.) it’ll give him something to focus on. she grabs three mugs from the cupboard and settles them on the counter by his workspace.

“i dunno,” percy mutters, “i just. it’s annoying, right? like – i know it gets hard to deal with me when i’m like this.” he throws an accusing hand towards himself, frown still in place. he won’t look at her now. whether it’s due to the focus of his newest task or an avoidance of her reaction, she’s not quite sure. he continues: “i’m sorry you have to – to put up with it so much. it’s so fuckin’ hard to just keep it under control and i know you’re trying to concentrate, i don’t want to distract y –“

“percy,” annabeth cuts off, not unkindly, “percy, hold on a second.”

she sidles up from behind and wraps her arms around him. he’s tense; stiff as a board, like he’s fighting the urge to – oh, right. annabeth pulls back, patting his sides. “right, sorry, my bad,” she says.

except, that doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say, because all it achieves is a defeated slump of percy’s shoulders. “see?” he sighs. whips his free hand up in a _told you_ kind of motion. “it’s _annoying_ , right? you can’t – you can’t even hug me without some _stupid_ reaction. it’s so…”

pursing her lips, annabeth approaches again. slower. keeps her hands on his sides and rests her head on his back, “it’s really not annoying, percy. it makes perfect sense! we’ve been through _a lot_ – we’re bound to have some…residual side-effects from it, okay? just because you get like this sometimes doesn’t mean i love you any less for it, or think you’re not worth my time.” he doesn’t relax; not when he’s pouring or stirring or steeping, and not when she kisses him through his shirt. “seriously. and –“ she does _not_ snort – “this whole thing about nico being more tolerable? as much as i love him, he’s _really not_ , perce.”

percy makes a dubious sound. tapping his spoon on the edge of a steaming mug, he asks, “are you sure?”

annabeth takes a long drag of air. holds it while closing her eyes. it’s hard not to feel his agitation. the tension runs straight down his spine, loosens along his limbs only because he’s fidgeting. kicking the cupboard in a semi-beat, drumming his fingers on the counter while he waits. boundless energy, wrapped up in this boy, and all annabeth can really put together as a response is, “when have i ever not been?”

because, really, how could she be unsure of what’s in front of her? his question was obviously more loaded than he’d wanted to give away, but it’s not in annabeth’s nature to shy away from it. “how could i not be?” she asks. truly, how could she be unsure?

there’s something in her voice that makes percy turn in her hold, spoon and mugs forgotten behind him on the counter. he looks down at her, face indiscernible. still frowning. still glowering slightly. annabeth reaches up and cups his face, thumbing over his cheeks, “we’ve killed monsters and won _wars_ , y’know.” says it like it’s a divulged piece of trivia and not a traumatic experience, makes sure to dip the end of it in pride; it _is_ a point of prowess, no matter their usual pessimistic take on the whole thing. there’s too much loss for annabeth to take it as anything but a victory. to not is…a disservice. but that’s not the point. “we’ve been thrown so many curveballs, and come out on top. do you think some fidgeting is going to push me away?”

“i guess not,” percy relents. his face softens, finally leans into her hands and brings his own up to pull through her curls. his eyes do this thing – like a storm clearing on the oceanfront, brightening.

quietly, like it’s a secret, he whispers, “i love you.”

“i love you too, kelp head,” annabeth rumors back. she doesn’t lean up to kiss him, though; she waits for him to dip down, of which he does. it’s a chaste kiss, as they are wont to do. her breath still feels like it’s escaped her when she pulls back. percy finally closes the distance, stooping down to bury his face in her neck. arms curling around her. she feels so indescribably _safe_ – right here, in this little kitchen, tea and coffee in the air and cold sun in the window. in his arms.

it’s good. it’s pretty fucking good.

and later, when the shadows thicken down the hall and the sound of retching follows from the bathroom, annabeth still wouldn’t trade it for anything. one boy being restless is bad enough, having two of them in the same room together is a struggle, but she makes it work.

well, actually, _they_ make it work. nico being ill gives percy something to put his energy into, and nico gets to grumble and complain all he wants so long as annabeth gets to use his leg as a table for her notepad.

okay, maybe it’s not going as perfectly as imagined. then again, she’s not really sure what she was expecting with nico, vomitous and so wound-up that touching him only upsets him more, and percy, who is so on-edge he’s cutting up his own feet, in the same vicinity. at the very least, she’s proven to percy that there really, seriously, is no competition between him and nico on who is more tolerable.

they can’t help it, she knows this. to be fair, nico also isn’t grumbling and complaining every few minutes, either. he’s just. _moving_. legs out of her lap. legs in her lap. legs up over the back of the couch. legs folded to his chest. a quiet, uncomfortable sound. shoving his blanket off onto the floor. sniffling. stretching his legs out to the coffee table. picking his blanket back up. picking at the frayed edges of the blanket.

sometimes he grabs the big plastic bowl they’re keeping close by, looking green around the gills, but puts it back down after he only chokes up spit. every time he does, percy’s got hands on him: neck, shoulder, back of his head, _anywhere_ , and each time nico is quiet with it.

annabeth can see the agitation making him twitch. too much touch on his sensitive nerves, but he doesn’t say a word. keeps his teeth in his mouth, fights the temptation to tense and recoil and _react react react_ – annabeth is quite proud of him, honestly. touch has always been tricky, even when he was a child. it’s gotten a little better as the years go on, but sometimes something as simple as brushing his hand makes him flinch.

it’s not the same as percy’s _please don’t raise your hand_ kind of flinching, but the energy is similar. where on percy is it his arms and his back and his chest, on nico it is his thighs and his hips and his wrists. they don’t talk about it. never. of course, there is room for error, and sometimes somebody touches someplace. it’s bound to happen. sort of inescapable sometimes; scenarios arise, proximity turns to nothing. it’s unpredictable.

thoughtless. accidental. there’s no time to say anything before percy’s grabbed nico’s wrist to guide his arm out of the way. the reaction is instant.

nico slams the heal of his palm into percy’s chest, and things fall apart from there.

all she can do is jump up and swiftly remove herself from the living room, cabin rosters and other loose papers bundled in her arms as her feet carry her out of the way. puts the papers on the table. it’s not even been three seconds, surely, but as she turns back around, the couch is already tipped over and the boys are grappling on the floor.

everything slows down for a moment.

her eyes go to too many different things. things that don’t matter. the spilled coffee on the table. the faucet jetting water into the sink basin. shadows slinking from corners. dust motes dancing busily in the motion, low sun bleeding deep and rich into the room from the window, everything bathed in a haze of red. red like heat, like liquid fire, like hot blood.

the television humming in the background. some action scene that’s all flashing and gunshots, _mortal_ things, blinking blue and red of police cars. people are running. screaming. pained cries. red spilled on the concrete, red light that bleeds into everything, and soon enough the television is not that different from anything at all. gleaming metal gun, but the image is different, looks like a dagger when the wielder whips it too fast as they pivot, _looks like a dagger looks like a fight looks like a plan gone wrong_ –

and that’s right, she needs a plan, doesn’t she? because there’s a fight happening right in front of her. slowly, annabeth’s eyes drag towards the scuffle.

deep stain on the carpet. big enough to be a headwound. too dark to tell who it belongs to.

no, the fight, annabeth. not the…not the stain.

percy. something clawing down his arm, red welts welling up in its wake. snarling. moving too fast to keep track of. monster of some kind, slinking into the dark too much to get a good look at it. percy, he’s countering it, no weapon – gods, what an _idiot_ – babbling his own nonsense as he goads his opponent from the corners.

something strikes out – nico, and gods, nico’s trying to fight something off too. evading and dodging, his eyes are unfocused and he’s got sweat beading on his forehead. can’t keep himself upright. he’s sick, annabeth remembers, he shouldn’t be fighting when he’s sick. _idiot_. baring his teeth like a dog, lashing out and skipping back, constantly on his toes, provoked by whatever growls are thrown back at him.

she doesn’t know which one to go to first; they’re both not in their right minds, it’s a dilemma really – until she watches percy swing a punch the same time nico’s opponent does, and it all blurs together. then it clicks. 

that’s right. they’re fighting each other. because they’re…not in their right minds. right. that’s it.

annabeth surges forward, slipping between the two boys – reckless, yes, but nico’s quick even when sick and he’s stopping himself mid-swipe. “enough!” she calls out, watching percy, slower, come to a stop. she curls her hand firmly around percy’s fist, lowers it to his side.

she’s sideways; back to neither of them, arms out to separate. in a _real_ fight this would be _ridiculously idiotic_ of her, really, absolute impulse-type move, an action that’d only result in more injury. but her boys know her. they’re (mostly) predictable elements in a well-known environment. she can take risks like this. she doesn’t need to form a full plan when they’re like this. she doesn’t need to talk them down, either: the clarity washes away the violence in percy’s eyes. he’s still gritting his teeth, but his fist unfurls in her hand, the realization dawning. the guilt storms in immediately after.

“oh, shit –“

nico groans, braces his hands on his knees, and vomits. 

later, after cleaning up the mess and scrubbing the carpet a dozen times, annabeth watches percy curl up with nico limp in his arms. the battle’s bled out of them by this point. they’ve had their mandatory _i’m sorry i tried to attack you while i was non compos mentis_ talk. nico gave an extra apology for spewing his guts up on the carpet. all’s well that ends well…or something.

annabeth flops down at percy’s feet, paperwork back in her lap. she lets out a weary sigh. her hands smell like bleach, and nico’s sickly enough to look like a body she’s preparing to drop into a bath of chemicals, and percy looks kicked-dog and guilty enough to be her unwilling accomplice. what a sight sally will come home to. “you know,” annabeth breathes out, “i’m starting to think we should go to therapy, solely for the purpose of avoiding destroying the living room every time one of you gets into a fight.”

percy wrinkles his nose.

nico kicks her.

“yeah, me too,” annabeth relents. she’s not very keen on the idea of therapy either; though this is neither the first nor the last time she’ll absentmindedly bring it up. something tells her it’s not going to be the last time the boys give her _that_ look about it, either. “maybe a quest would be better.”

nico blinks at her over the top of his blanket. he digs his toes into her thigh with that one, the raised eyebrows and too-interested eyes all too telling. she snorts, shoving his feet away. determined, she ignores the curious and also-too-interested glances percy gives her over the comic book he most definitely isn’t reading. “ _maybe_ ,” annabeth murmurs, “we haven’t even reached the ‘domestic life is too boring’ phase, yet.”

“but we have.” it’s not sure which boy says it first.

“but we have,” she echoes.

iii.

they lost percy in the store. again.

“i told you we need to get him one of those children leash things.” nico saunters along with his hands in his pockets, the epitome of ‘do not interact; i am feral’ with his bare feet and bedhead. percy stole his jacket because the heater in the car wouldn’t turn on, though annabeth’s not sure where his boots went. she’d feel bad, considering it’s the thick of winter in new york, but nico in only a crop-top and what she’s pretty sure are _her_ mom jeans is a lovely sight. all lean muscle, tattoos and scars. it’s a good look. rugged, chic. almost makes his lack of shoes look like a stylistic choice.

makes her think about where they’d been before percy demanded their shopping trip. laid out on the sheets, high flush on his cheeks, dark glossy eyes…

right, percy.

percy, who they fucking lost at the grocery store. a running theme for their late-night last-minute trips. they _always_ lose percy. nico’s comment about a child-leash is more than a convincing case at this point, it’s quickly becoming a requirement. annabeth pauses. “…children leash thing?”

she looks at nico, who doesn’t either doesn’t realize she’s stopped or simply doesn’t care. he mulls along to a stop further down the aisle, perusing the assortment of cookies on the shelf. “yeah,” he mumbles disinterestedly over his shoulder, “uhhh…they have, like, the little, uhhh…”

vague hand gesture counter: 1.

“the, uh. they clip onto the kid with like a harness.” vague hand gesture counter: 3. “and then you put a leash on it. good for toddlers, or something.” vague hand gesture counter: 7. how nico managed to make miming a harness look like wrestling with a condom packet, she’ll never know. then again, considering what they’d been up to before they left –

damn percy and his demand for ben&jerry’s ice cream. they could be doing something _much_ more – ahem – entertaining. not that searching for mia boyfriends isn’t entertaining, more that some things simply take higher priority than others. never again is annabeth letting _ice cream_ of all fucking things be a reason to interrupt sex. she should’ve learned her lesson after the first three times. it’s become a recent development.

maybe percy’s pavlov’d himself into wanting ice cream every time they start getting intimate. what a mess that’s going to be to un-teach him. idiot. “right,” annabeth mumbles, “now where do we get one that’s adult-sized?”

nico throws six different packs of cookies into the cart. he quips _kobe!_ under his breath with each one. annabeth pretends it’s not endearing and clucks her tongue at him, valiantly ignoring the roguish-too-many-teeth grin he flashes at her. barefoot bastard. “c’mon,” she ushers. there’s still time before they need to start worrying about percy disappearing, after all. they’re not here _just_ for ice cream, either. no way would annabeth waste a trip to the store at, _oh, y’know_ , almost midnight, in her house-robe and slippers just to get ice cream.

fucking. ice cream.

“of all things –“ nico nods along, probably having already been on a similar thought-track to her own – “of _all things_! _ice cream_. he wants to stop cozy, lazy, threesome sex! for ice cream!” her voice hits a hysterical note towards the end. nico moseys his way back to her, looping an arm around her shoulders. he nods along consolingly, though annabeth _knows_ he’s amused. he’s not even _trying_ to hide his snickering.

she slaps his hip indignantly. “seriously. where has he even _gone_? we already _have_ the ice cream.” as she pushes the cart along, she stabs a finger at the culprit tub of fudge brownie ice cream sitting between the several bottles of soda and packs of cookies. and an 8-pack of monster energy. when did they get that?

ignoring whatever nico’s half-assedly dismissing in response, annabeth gives him a side-eye: “percy’s going to kill you if he finds out you bought monster.”

“not if you bought them for me.” he did _not_ just lower his voice for that. he did _not_.

he _did_ , the salacious prick! he even bit his lip and batted his eyelashes. annabeth forces herself to look away, clearing her throat noisily and hastening her pace until she power-walks out from beneath his arm. grumpily, she hunches her shoulders up and grumbles, even as nico’s ugly hyena cackle follows her through the vacant store.

then she turns around to check if he’s following, and he’s gone.

of course he is.

two boys gone, separately, in the local grocery store. annabeth stops, parked up against a wall of out-of-season fruit. she puts her face in her hands. way to look _insane_. she’s totally alone, with too much junk food in her cart, in her house-robe and slippers, hair probably a mess. she’s only wearing her underwear and a ratty t-shirt underneath this. if she has to go and _fight something_ – whether that be a methhead fighting for a block of cheese or some kind of monster – this is going to be a _disaster_.

“nico, i swear to gods if you don’t get back here right now –“

“m’not nico, but something tells me just _one_ of us being here would somewhat improve your mood. what’s my wise girl agonizing over this time?” percy’s voice is all too chipper for the frustration he’s caused this evening. it’s hard to stay mad, though, when he leans down and kisses behind her ear.

it’s easier to stay mad when something _cold_ and _wet_ presses against her side. annabeth makes a sound between a squawk and a hiss, writhing away from whatever it is, glowering at percy all the while. “where have you been!? and what’s –“

a bag of frozen fruits. probably for nico. how thoughtful. answers her question, too. maybe.

percy tosses the bag into the cart, before sidling up beside her and eventually forcing her away from the cart altogether. he takes charge of pushing it, humming a too-jaunty tune under his breath. “anyways, where’d our puppy go?” he doesn’t seem phased by his wording, despite said wording having been used in their bedroom-time way too often as of late. he doesn’t seem to realize the way it makes annabeth squirm, either.

“our pup?” yeah, okay, maybe she could get used to calling nico such names outside of the bedroom too. it’s cute. it’d probably make him squirm, too, just like she’d done. what a sight that’d be. eyes widening in surprise, pink dusting the tips of his ears… he’d probably try and look angry or affronted, but curl up so nobody would notice the _real_ effect it had on him…

her asshole boyfriend is laughing obnoxiously. he’s staring at her, all fond-eyes, a little too knowing. “where’d he go, annie?” right, right. that’s what this is about. one boy back, only for the other to disappear. these fucking _boys_ , seriously. maybe annabeth should just become entirely lesbian. women are far less of a hassle.

“no idea. said i’d pay for his monster and then –“

“monster? oh my _gods_ i can’t believe you let him put those cans of fucking battery-acid in the cart, are you _serious_?” cue rant about how bad energy drinks are, how they keep nico up for hours on end and have him bouncing off the walls. percy running his hands through his already tousled hair, concern and affection in his voice as he goes on to talk about the jitters and the shakes nico gets after maybe his second monster energy, and then the slurring and the stuttering after the fifth, and blah blah blah energy drinks = bad. but percy still doesn’t take them out the cart.

annabeth hears percy murmur something about how much of a _bad boy_ nico is, and how they’ll have to…’punish’ him, when they get back home, and _oh_ , what a delightful plan that is. hence: the monster energy stays in the cart. all eight of the fuckers.

the cashier has, apparently, a lot to say about their chosen outfits, but seems to value her job more. thankfully. though they say a picture speaks a thousand words, and – well, her expression is _quite_ the picture.

nico makes a reappearance just as annabeth is begrudgingly paying for _all_ the shit they’ve acquired in the past half hour. his boots are still gone. he adds another pile of crap to the conveyer belt. after the cashier gives her a bewildered and questioning look, annabeth nods, and pays for _that_ too.

“rough night, huh?” the poor, poor cashier tries.

annabeth shoves a fistful of twenties at her, releasing a long-suffering sigh. “something like that.” nico and percy are giggling like the stupid horny boys they are, jokingly repeating ‘rough night’ with that stupid innuendo-tone. annabeth is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of driving back home without them. leave them to fend for themselves. that’d teach them something. or not. nico would probably just shadow-travel them back home, and then they’d have hot sex on the couch, not letting her join in, as punishment for leaving them in the cold – as scantily dressed as they are.

“where the hell did your boots go, pup?” percy asks.

nico shrugs, adorably messy hair flopping down into his eyes. he wriggles his toes on the linoleum floor. “dunno.” then, after finally catching the smug grin on percy’s face, his eyes widen. “wait – _what?!_ ”

tone scandalized. he skips a little on the spot, not sure what to do with himself, before he angrily (flustered-ly) snatches the cart from annabeth and all but sprints out of the store with their goods. there’s no hiding the flush crawling down his chest and neck, not with that damn crop-top, and if that’s not telling enough, then the way the overhead lights flickered along after him are confirmation.

percy shares a look with her, before taking the change from the cashier. unabashed as ever. annabeth sighs. she tugs her idiot boyfriend along with her out of the store, trailing across the parking lot to where their horribly beat-up little honda is.

the night is dark, clouds heavy with rain. forecast to start thundering around 1am, which they’re nearing at this rate. that, and, percy’s been grumbling about the pressure build-up in his shoulders since about 9pm, so it’s about time. he tugs nico’s jacket closer around him, huffing as his breath condensates in the air.

annabeth stares at where nico has rudely shoved the cart, now empty. she could put it in the actual bay with the rest of them, but she’s never claimed to be a good person (let alone a good samaritan,) so she just gets in the car. nico’s already in the back, pouting. no seatbelt. knees to his chest. the back window has frosted over in his horny sulking, though melts off easy when she and percy get settled. so he’s not as mad as he wants to appear.

she reaches for him, waiting for him to push his head into her palm. annabeth cards her hand through his hair once, then blows a kiss his way – she does the same to percy, who smiles at her before yawning and shimmying down until he can recline in the passenger seat. he’ll have a crick in his neck by the time they get home. a shame, really, how awful it’s going to be to have to massage it out for him! t’is a pity, having to touch his golden skin and press fingers into his strong muscles. oh, a shame indeed.

being the only one of them that’s legally allowed to drive – long story – annabeth shoves the keys in the ignition. they wait with baited breath as the car splutters: once, twice, coughing up a storm on the third turn. thankfully, the car comes to life before annabeth punches the wheel. and then they’re off.

“nico did you put the bags in the boot?”

he leans between the two front seats, rummaging in the pocket of his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. he nods once, leaning back to roll down his window. cigarette lit, he curls up again, watching the nightlife blur by with sharp focus.

percy is neither in the mood for ice cream or sex by the time they get home. the bastard fell asleep in the car.

iv.

it’s girls’ night, so annabeth is nursing an entire bottle of chardonnay by herself while video-calling piper and hazel. reyna couldn’t join, something about too much work, but hazel had filled in that reyna was just busy hooking up with somebody and wouldn’t be making it tonight if things went successfully. good on her, annabeth thinks.

percy and nico had given her privacy by just disappearing altogether. she’s not quite sure where they scampered off to, though knowing the two of them, they’re not going to be getting up to anything good. the concern for them had tapered off years ago, however; they’re big and strong, and the chardonnay is telling her to just rest her eyes and let her bones soak up the tingles. so she does. it’s girls’ night, after all. what’s a little shut-eye.

she’s not sure how they got onto the topic of ‘other lives’, but…they did. annabeth is usually good at policing the topic of conversation, but not tonight. this week had been a long one, piles of paperwork and schematics and too many numbers, patience worn thin. she’d, understandably, lulled off around half-way through her bottle. let the girls ramble on and giggle and gossip.

which means piper, of course, had to bring up the question annabeth always avoids.

“where do you think you’d be if…y’know, none of what happened…happened?”

and that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? where would you be if you weren’t twelve years old and traumatized, where would you be if you didn’t learn violence so young, where would you be if you weren’t what the violence made you to be now? where would you be? who would you be? _why_ would you be?

it’s something annabeth avoids thinking about. there’s no need to ruminate on _what ifs_ when she can’t afford to regret the life she lives now. there’s been too much loss for her to not appreciate where she is now, to not cherish each moment she is given. things will never be _normal_ for her, never have been – to linger on that _what if_ is a spiral into something she will never return from if she’s not careful. this life she leads, room for regret there is not.

she’s got two boyfriends that sometimes treat the earth she walks on like it’s sacred, and other times drag her down to join them in their filth and grime. either way, she is loved. she and her father will never be on great terms – fuck her stepmom, too, her real mom while she’s at it – but she’s got a found-mother in sally blofis and her blue lava cookies. no, she didn’t end up breezing through college and graduating with some degree and land herself in some kind of high-paying high-achieving career that pays the bills and leaves her with a little extra on the side. maybe annabeth didn’t escape the clutches of being a _demigod_. maybe she’s not _normal_.

that doesn’t mean she’d trade any of it for normalcy.

she’s been through too much to regret the outcome. has killed too many, lost too many, sacrificed too _much_ – just for her to come out and say that she’s not happy with it. some days, no, she’s not fucking happy with it. but it’s _hers_. she shed blood and tears, crawled her way out of hell. regret has no place in her heart over this. for every loss, she has gained, learned, earned so many things.

but…she can’t help but wonder, sometimes.

where _would_ annabeth be, had she not gone through all of that?

a house comes to mind. not too big, not too small. big bay windows, a wrap-around porch, all the accented trimming painted white and all the wood being some kind of light birch. spacious inside, an open-plan that’s only achieved by renovation because yes, of course annabeth had to buy some kind of fixer-upper.

she could be married. some traditional gold band on her finger, a warm body in bed with her – their wedding would’ve been semi-formal, under an arch of flowers on the beach-front. in front of the ocean, like his eyes, and his best man is a boy with a wicked smile and pianist fingers. they’re all in love, really, but the marriage is good for taxes and bank accounts, so they make it work.

little feet running on the wooden floors. giggling, squealing. none of them look like her, but like their dad and their dad’s best man, but none of it matters. green eyes, black eyes, some earthy-hazel in between. little hands and rosy cheeks, so soft and delicate and protected from the world. innocent. loved. annabeth wanted to name them something pretentious with a cute nickname, but her husband said _luke_ and her husband’s best man said _bianca_ – really, who is annabeth to deny them closure? (no matter what, annabeth can never think of a world where the deaths and the betrayal never happened. they are permanent.) 

luke and bianca cause havoc, and maybe they live up to their namesakes a little too much. mischievous, cunning, strong, the pair of them. but annabeth sees her husband’s eyes in bianca and her husband’s best man’s too-toothy grin in luke, but they’re _hers_ , they are _hers_ , and children were never a prospect she’d considered in early life, in any life at all –

but here, there are no dangers. she has the time to plan her life. she can wake up in the morning and _breathe_. she can go to her study and work from home, come down to the kitchen and see her husband cooking blue pancakes the way his mother taught him. sun in through the big window above the steel sink, shadow of his best man drawn long on the opposite wall because he likes to sit and paint while perched on the windowsill. there’s laughter and sunshine in the backyard. she’ll kiss her husband sweetly, he’ll murmur gentle good mornings, and the kids will come bursting through the backdoor – tracking all earth all over the floor. she’ll be exasperated, but fond.

it’d be boring, though, wouldn’t it?

as gentle as such a dream is, there’s no strike of disaster. no goal. just another cog in the great machine; nothing to say for herself and so little to aspire for. she’s just taken an aspect of a life she already has, and scaled it to be the entire picture rather than a simple aspect of said picture.

she already sees percy in the kitchen making blue pancakes like his mother taught him. he’s not as quiet and gentle as her dream (because that’s all it is, a _pipedream_ ,) but that’s part of the fun. he’s loud, he’s emphatic, he’s _alive_. she already sees nico curl up in various places, doing whatever he wants to do while sharing a space with them.

sure, the big house and the two kids are missing, but she doesn’t _need_ them. not here. not in this life. really, she’s not sure any of them are actually cut out for being parents – too many issues, too many things ingrained, a general sense of not wanting to bring a fragile child into a world of cruelty. she hasn’t got the job or the college degree to get the job, but she also doesn’t need it when she works at camp on a livable salary. nico’s here-and-there commission work keeps them afloat, too, and it’s not like they’d could ask more from percy when he adores the work he does even if it doesn’t pay him all that good at all. it doesn’t matter. none of it matters.

it’s a nice _what if_. it is. with the chardonnay, that is.

without? annabeth knows its an unreality, an unachievable kind of faraway mess of sentiment and wishful thinking. something she can keep in the back of her closet, riddled with skeletons as it is, something to pick up when she’s alone and in need of comfort. she’ll never speak a word of it out loud.

can you imagine their faces if she told them?

how percy’s eyebrows would scrunch up, mouth taught in _guilt_. the ocean in his eyes beginning to drip down his face when she says _sometimes i dream that we have kids_ – see how he just can’t see that kind of future for them, couldn’t fathom having that kind of responsibility. _i think about buying a house somewhere in the countryside_ just to have him curl his hands into fists. holding back the sheer sadness, knowing that he can’t give her what she ~~maybes sort of kind of if things had been different but even then, it’s a gamble~~ wanted. how much he loves her, so clear, that he’d give her the world if he could.

thinking about nico’s reaction is always difficult. he’s never given a clear preference to many of the domestic questions that normal couples tend to have. never raised a brow at kids, but never been overly enthusiastic about them either. sometimes annabeth lays in bed and thinks about rolling over to tell him _there are nights where i think about us all living together, like normal people with one home_ and she can never pin down how he’d react. would he give her one of his confused glares, stiffen up at the idea of permanence, of being tied down? would he bark and growl and bite his way out of that kind of life? or would he come back with a secret of his own? would he hit her twice as hard as she did him?

either way, she doesn’t want to know. doesn’t want to tell them. it’s not like it’s something she wants in this life anyways. it’s just that the chardonnay tends to bring those kinds of thoughts to mind enough as it is, but…

she hears the girls call to her. she looks up to their images on the laptop, finding them both looking at her expectantly. when piper sees they’ve regained annabeth’s attention, she asks, “so where do you think you’d be?”

annabeth takes a breath, then sighs. she feels so tired. so sad, and so tired. “i don’t really care. what’s the point in thinking about something that’s not going to happen in the life i’m living right now?”

then she disconnects. closes the laptop. puts down the bottle. so much for girls’ night.

v.

“our existence is only a blink to the cosmos, y’know that right?” conversational as ever, nico doesn’t break concentration as he glides the little brush over percy’s toenails. pastel blue nail polish. “to the stars, we’re there not even a second before we’re gone again. they don’t even notice.”

annabeth has to wonder if the stars are merely a replacement word for the gods, and if so, why nico feels the need to avoid them so much. she watches percy twist his lips into a thoughtful expression, nodding after a moment. “feels that way,” he says. “never are noticed much by them.” annabeth has to wonder if percy is in on the code, too. if they’re just speaking in riddles or if they’re genuinely talking about stars – because when did nico get into astronomy? or existentialism for that matter? “…but it’s good that way, too. they don’t need us, and we do what we like.”

nico gnaws on his knuckle as he stares at the collection of nail polish on the bed. “we do what we like,” he echoes softly. so quiet, it’s almost unheard, save for the fact that no matter how quiet he is his voice will always command attention. unworldly, like it is. “blue and yellow, how’s that sound?”

percy meets annabeth’s eyes across the bed. he doesn’t look alarmed. he’s got his dreamy eyes again, rosy sunset on dark oceans kind of eyes, like he hasn’t just spoken in code about whether their freedom comes at the cost of acknowledgement from the great and almighty. “maybe blue and that mint-green one,” annabeth says – just for the sake of saying something. nico tuts at her as if he disagrees, but his pianist fingers curl around the little bottle of mint-green polish anyways.

a jaunty tune starts up as nico gets back to work. blue. green. blue. green. blue. percy’s voice cracks a few times; he’s warbling more than humming, really, but neither annabeth nor nico have the heart to tell him to quit it. it’s nice to read along to, anyways. easy background noise.

“i’ve got a mission for father-dearest coming up, by the way.” the younger boy doesn’t look up as he says this. eyes trained solely on the toes he’s painting. he grunts under his breath when percy growls at him. _growls_.

“was that code-talk your way of segueing into this?” ah, so percy _did_ know about it. “ _nico_ ,” percy adds on for incredulity’s sake. he takes his feet away altogether, and nico whines something about not being finished in return. “nico. i thought you were taking a break?”

annabeth looks up from her book. “this is the third time you’ve said you’ll take a break, and then went on a quest anyways. you owe your father nothing, you understand that right?” she tries to keep her tone light. she tries. it’s hard getting admonished about things you feel deeply about, or things you respect. she knows this. she tries. the frustration comes out anyways. “you’re not something for him to use at his beck and call –“

“he needs my help –“

“it’s been three fucking years!” percy throws his hands up.

nico grits his teeth, screwing the lid back on the bottle of polish. he starts cataloguing exits, pulled back onto his haunches like he’s ready to sprint at any second.

“three years.” percy growls. “three years, and you’re telling me that the underworld hasn’t gotten its shit back together since then? what’s your fuckin’ dad even getting you to _do_ anymore?”

“stuff.” nico mutters.

“stuff.” percy echoes.

licking her lips, annabeth sits up proper and starts putting the nail polishes back in the box they came from. “look, what nico does is his business, okay? you can look after yourself just fine, we know you can –“ she directs the last part to nico, trying to find his gaze – “we just worry. you know we worry. quests are dangerous to do on their own, we all know it, and you _said_ you’d take a break. we miss you.”

he still looks like he wants to escape. annabeth purposefully retreats under the guise of putting the box away. she has to avoid the shelf where it usually goes, because it’s by the doorway, but it won’t hurt putting them in the wrong place for a little bit.

barely above a whisper, percy mumbles, “m’sorry. i care about you ‘n i hate seeing you working yourself overtime just because you feel like you fucking owe him shit when you _don’t_.” deep breath. annabeth turns just in time to watch her boyfriend pull her other boyfriend into his arms. percy hides his face in nico’s hair. she can’t hear the rest, but nico’s face relaxes into a rueful softness.

“this is the last one. then i’ll take a break. for real.”

it’s the closest to a promise as nico will give. percy takes it with ease. that’s their own little code, annabeth supposes; promises aren’t what they used to be, not with how many that have been broken, especially between the two of them. too much guilt there. she watches them for a moment, pressed close enough to almost be one person in the right lowlight.

“i trust you,” percy mumbles.

“i trust you too,” she says when nico peeks over at her. she crawls across the bed to huddle in close, though doesn’t encroach on her boys’ intimacy. she’s close enough that once they’re ready, she’s within reach.

it’s like that sometimes. they each have their own way of loving each other, and annabeth can’t fault them for loving each other differently than how they may love her or how she may love them. that’s just how it is. besides, why give up a view like this? two of the strongest men she knows; endured a lifetime of _enough_ , finding respite. who is she to deny that? they compliment each other in ways that annabeth couldn’t. vice versa. it’s just…like that. it’s hard to explain, but in the end she doesn’t need to. it’s theirs. entirely theirs.

and when nico finally slips further into annabeth’s lap, pressing featherlight kisses into her temple and murmuring _you smell like peach tea_ and _ti adoro amore mio_ into her hair, she smiles. percy turns until he can envelop her in his arms, asks her what she’s been up to today because she’s been awfully focused and maybe he misses having her attention because he’s a complete attention whore. it’s good. it’s theirs. _hers_. she wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> random vaguely connected instances from me rambling on discord listen i just,,,theyre soft they make me soft i dont care


End file.
